


so call me maybe

by eiirene



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:19:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiirene/pseuds/eiirene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaner is not a hot girl. Tazer likes him anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so call me maybe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vitula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitula/gifts).



> This fic features Tazer misreading a girl's number, mistakenly starting to text Kaner instead, and not realizing this for some time. I think some suspension of disbelief might be required.
> 
> [Aohatsu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aohatsu/pseuds/aohatsu) beta'd this and also yelled at me when I wasn't writing enough and gave me ideas when I got stuck. YOU ROCK. Also thanks to [tictactoews](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jean_iris/pseuds/tictactoews) for reading this and letting me whine about it.

Jon wakes up when a ray of sunlight hits his face. His head hurts – fucking TJ and his tequila shots – and he has a crick in his neck. He’s still in his clothes from last night, and there's a phone number scribbled on his forearm. The ink got a little smudged under the sleeves of his shirt, but the numbers are still readable. Mostly. He’s a little torn on whether the third digit is a 3 or an 8, but the last one is _probably_ a 7.

He types it into his phone on a whim and stops when it asks him to name the contact. He remembers talking to a girl at the party, knows she introduced herself to him, remembers her saying her name in the dimly lit kitchen at Ryan’s apartment. It was… something short starting with P. Peggy or Patty or something like that.

He saves the number as “P.” for now. It’ll come to him later.

 

\---

 

He’s at the airport, getting ready to board a plane to Winnipeg, when he thinks about it again. He’s not planning on coming back to UND anytime soon and the chances are they might never meet again, but. Last night was fun, from what he can remember. It can’t hurt to send a text.

 

> **To: P.** ( _sent: 05/15/2007, 10:34 AM_ )  
>  Hey, this is Jon. I really had fun last night.

 

\---

 

Patrick has a hangover from hell when he wakes up because one of his douchebag friends texts him at – half past eleven, fine, so maybe it’s not that early, but everyone should know that before-noon texting is not okay when you’ve been partying until five in the morning.

It’s from an unknown number, too. Just awesome, Patrick could’ve had at least half an hour of uninterrupted sleep more but he’s awake because some moron—

Oh. Well. Hooked up with him last night, apparently.

So Patrick doesn’t exactly remember getting it on with some dude – Jon – at the club, but his memory of things that happened after he hit the dance floor is a little hazy. But hey, he probably impressed the guy with his (awesome) moves.

He squints at the bright light of his phone screen and types:

 

> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 05/15/2007, 11:41 AM_ )  
>  hi jonny :)

 

\---

 

Jon’s just going out for a run when his phone pings with a new message alert. 

 

> **From: P.** ( _received: 05/18/2007, 5:20 PM_ )  
>  things i have not missed about living with the fam: weekly danceoffs w/ sisters

 

Jon’s pretty sure that’s a lie – they’ve been texting on and off for the past week and he already knows she’s ridiculously fond of her sisters (three of them; she’s the oldest).

He knows quite a lot about her now – she’s really close with her family, has a weakness for chili (ew), loves Kanye, and he thinks she’s pretty into sports, which he’ll have to investigate later.

He just needs to figure out a way to subtly ask for her name without admitting he forgot it.

 

\---

 

> **To: P.** ( _sent: 05/21/2007, 6:12 PM_ )  
>  Vampires shouldn’t SPARKLE.
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 05/21/2007, 6:15 PM_ )  
>  dude dude dude! are you reading twilight???
> 
> **To: P.** ( _sent: 05/21/2007, 6:16 PM_ )  
>  I’m not. I have a younger cousin, she really loves those books.
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 05/21/2007, 6:17 PM_ )  
>  uh huh, your cousin, right. well tell her she has awesome taste
> 
> **To: P.** ( _sent: 05/21/2007, 6:17 PM_ )  
>  Really?
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 05/21/2007, 6:18 PM_ )  
>  don’t be hatin
> 
> **To: P.** ( _sent: 05/21/2007, 6:19 PM_ )  
>  I’m still not going to read them, even if you say it’s cool
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 05/18/2007, 6:19 PM_ )  
>  you’re missing out!
> 
> **To: P.** ( _sent: 05/21/2007, 6:20 PM_ )  
>  I’m sure I’ll survive somehow.
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 05/21/2007, 6:25 PM_ )  
>  what about werewolves, yay or nay?
> 
> **To: P.** ( _sent: 05/21/2007, 6:27 PM_ )  
>  There are werewolves in Twilight?
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 05/21/2007, 6:28 PM_ )  
>  DUDE. go to your cousin, let her educate you
> 
> **To: P.** ( _sent: 05/21/2007, 6:28 PM_ )  
>  Maybe I should just let you talk to her, seems like you’d get along great
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 05/21/2007, 6:29 PM_ )  
>  hey now. so eager to get rid of me? ;)
> 
> **To: P.** ( _sent: 05/21/2007, 6:29 PM_ )  
>  No!
> 
> **To: P.** ( _sent: 05/21/2007, 6:29 PM_ )  
>  I mean, you’re not so bad. ;)

 

\---

 

> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 05/26/2007, 3:14 PM_ )  
>  fyeah there’s a sabres game replay on
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 05/26/2007, 3:14 PM_ )  
>  The Sabres? Please.
> 
> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 05/26/2007, 3:14 PM_ )  
>  u don’t like them???
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 05/26/2007, 3:15 PM_ )  
>  No.
> 
> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 05/26/2007, 3:15 PM_ )  
>  well who DO you like then?
> 
> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 05/26/2007, 3:21 PM_ )  
>  do u need more time to think about it?
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 05/26/2007, 3:21 PM_ )  
>  Screw you and the Habs are my childhood team. My mom is from Quebec.
> 
> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 05/26/2007, 3:22 PM_ )  
>  loll sorry your team sucks
> 
> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 05/26/2007, 3:22 PM_ )  
>  have you even been to a sabres game?
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 05/26/2007, 3:23 PM_ )  
>  Once, in Montreal.
> 
> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 05/26/2007, 3:23PM_ )  
>  not in buffalo?
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 05/26/2007, 3:24 PM_ )  
>  I’ve never been in Buffalo.

 

Patrick squints at his phone. Okay, he couldn’t possibly have teleported out of the city for the party, he wasn’t _that_ drunk. The only other option is that it’s Jonny who was that drunk and doesn’t in fact remember going to Buffalo.

What. Weirder things have happened to Patrick, it’s not totally out of the realm of possibility.

 

> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 05/26/2007, 3:25PM_ )  
>  never?
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 05/26/2007, 3:25 PM_ )  
>  Nope.
> 
> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 05/26/2007, 3:16 PM_ )  
>  rly? new york at all?
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 05/26/2007, 3:17 PM_ )  
>  We went to NY a few years ago, on a trip. It was fun.

 

Huh.

Huh, okay. Patrick flops down on his bed and drops his phone next to his head.

So it seems likely that he’s been talking to a complete stranger for the past few days. A really nice stranger called Jonny, but still.

He should probably explain it to him now and apologize or something (or not? it’s not like that’s his fault), but.

Patrick is self aware enough to admit that he likes Jonny. He gets weirdly intense about some things and has Really Wrong opinions about Patrick’s taste in music, but for all that, he’s a really cool dude. He seems to enjoy texting with Patrick a lot, too. So maybe Patrick will wait just a little longer, figure out a way to break the news delicately. There’s no harm in that, right?

And they can keep texting each other for now.

 

\---

 

> **1 missed call from: P.** ( _06/17/2007, 6:21 PM_ )
> 
> **To: P.** ( _sent: 06/17/2007, 8:15 PM_ )  
>  Hey, you called? Sorry I didn’t hear the phone.
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 06/17/2007, 8:17 PM_ )  
>  hahaha sorry i sat on you!

 

Jon supposes it’s a little weird that they’ve been texting all this time and haven’t called each other even once. Texting is just comfortable and doesn’t really leave space for the awkward pauses in conversation. And they communicate this way just fine (more than fine). Still, he thinks it would be nice to finally hear each other.

Considering he just got a text, she can’t be too busy, and it’s early enough in the evening for a phone call.

It rings for a long time and Jon thinks she’s not going to pick up, but finally he hears a breathless “Hi!” at the other end of the line.

“Hi.” he says and then pauses. “Uh, hey. Sorry, I thought this would be better than texting, so—”

“This is Erica,” somebody interrupts. “Patty’s not here right now, but I can pass on a message if you want.”

“Oh. No, that’s fine. Can you ask her to call me back?” he asks. “Please,” he adds.

He can hear giggling in the background, probably her other sisters. “Sure,” says Erica slowly. “I’ll tell—her.” And then she hangs up.

So that was weird. But at least he found out her name without having to ask, so he still counts it as a win.

 

\---

 

“God, Pat, you’re such an idiot!” Erica yells as soon as she hangs up and he has to duck to avoid the phone she throws at his head.

“What was that about? What did he say?”

Erica scoffs. “He thinks you’re a _girl_ , did you know that?”

Patrick can feel the blood leaving his face. “W—what? He can’t! I mean, we talked about, uh, dunno. Sports and shit.”

Erica gives him her most unimpressed look. “So what? Like girls aren’t into that?”

Patrick squeezes his eyes shut and groans. Then thumps his head against the wall. He can hear soft footsteps and then Erica brings her arms around his waist, squeezing tight.

“You have to tell him, Pat,” she whispers.

He drops his head onto her shoulder and sighs. “Yeah, I know. I will.”

“Soon,” she says.

“Yeah. I just—I’ll figure out how to bring this up.”

She kicks his shin, hard, and he winces. To be fair, he probably deserved that.

“Soon, Pat,” she repeats.

 

\---

 

Patrick means to tell Jonny soon. He really does, but he’s also not sure how to go about that. He can see the disapproving looks his sister sends his way every day and he’s thinking about it all the time. It would probably be the best to just get it over with, rip off the band aid and text Jonny, _so there’s something we should talk about_.

He just wants to do it right. Jonny – okay, Jonny is important now. He doesn’t want this to be the thing that ruins their friendship. So he’s thinking about it, starts several messages that he deletes without sending.

He starts feeling a little bad about texting him so much, too. It’s different now when he knows Jonny thinks he’s texting a girl, and Patrick is effectively lying to him. He doesn’t want to lead him on, so he tries to cut down on texting Jonny so often, even goes without replying to him for two whole days.

 

> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 06/19/2007, 11:30 AM_ )  
>  Did you get my last text? You didn’t reply
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 06/20/2007, 1:16 PM_ )  
>  I guess your phone must be dead
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 06/20/2007, 1:28 PM_ )  
>  Or maybe you lost it. This is Jon btw if you don’t have this number
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 06/21/2007, 10:40 AM_ )  
>  Where are you. :(

 

It’s the fucking sadface that does it.

 

> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 06/21/2007, 10:43 AM_ )?  
>  yeah sorry i had to get a new phone

 

No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t bring himself to stop talking to Jonny.

And then. He gets drafted. To the Chicago Blackhawks. First overall.

He’s still at the draft, wearing the brand new jersey with the Indian head on his chest and he fishes his phone out of his pocket to send a quick text to Jonny.

 

> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 06/22/2007, 10:52 PM_ )  
>  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 06/22/2007, 10:54 PM_ )  
>  ?
> 
> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 06/22/2007, 10:55 PM_ )  
>  just uh, got a new job its so fuckijg cool
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 06/22/2007, 10:55 PM_ )  
>  Congratulations! What is it?

 

Patrick bites his lower lip. This seems like a perfect occasion to come clean and explain everything – how he didn’t know they never met at first, he never thought he was, like, leading Jonny on or something. That it was an honest mistake. Maybe Jonny won’t even hate him that much, Patrick is a professional NHL player now. Well, almost.

 

> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 06/22/2007, 10:57 PM_ )  
>  i’m kind of in sports
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 06/22/2007, 10:58 PM_ )  
>  What, like PR?
> 
> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 06/22/2007, 10:58 PM_ )  
>  yeah sth like that

 

Patrick is so going to hell for this.

 

\---

 

Patrick goes to Chicago after the draft, gets to meet the whole management and throws the first pitch at the Cubs game ( _baller_ ).

It doesn’t leave him much free time to think about the Jonny Situation, and Jonny must be busy too, because they don’t text at all during those couple of days. But then Patrick’s meetings are over and he has a whole day left in Chicago before he goes back to Buffalo for the last time this summer.

The PR department says something about possibly setting up a photoshoot with Jonathan Toews, another Hawks’ rookie, but it falls through in the end - something about Toews having a conflicting schedule, Patrick stopped paying attention at this point. He takes his sisters shopping instead, because his sisters are awesome and he hopes his new contract will allow him to spoil them even more now.

But then the day is almost over and he goes on a walk in the park after dropping his sisters off at the hotel, and there’s no excuse to avoid thinking about Jonny now.

 

\---

 

> **From: P.** ( _received: 06/26/2007, 6:12 PM_ )  
>  the bean is so awesome!!!
> 
> **To: P.** ( _sent: 06/26/2007, 6:15 PM_ )  
>  What bean?
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 06/26/2007, 6:16 PM_ )  
>  and you say chi city chi city, CHI CITY
> 
> **To: P.** ( _sent: 06/26/2007, 6:16 PM_ )  
>  Wait, you’re in Chicago?
> 
> **To: P.** ( _sent: 06/26/2007, 6:16 PM_ )  
>  You haven’t said anything
> 
> **To: P.** ( _sent: 06/26/2007, 6:17 PM_ )  
>  how long for
> 
> **To: P.** ( _sent: 06/26/2007, 6:17 PM_ )  
>  Can we meet?

 

Jon makes himself stop after the fourth consecutive text and waits for a reply. Patiently.

It doesn’t come.

He shoves his phone into his back pocket after five minutes and then takes it out again to make sure it’s not on mute.

She’s probably distracted with sightseeing and hasn’t seen his messages yet. It’s not like he can expect her to walk around with her eyes glued to her phone. They’ll have time to meet anyway, since it’s unlikely she’d be in Chicago just for a day.

He’s in the middle of making himself a protein shake when his phone rings and he feels a little thrill of excitement when he sees “P.” flash across the screen. They haven’t attempted a phone call again since that one conversation with Erica a while ago.

He smiles as he answers the phone. “Hi!”

He can hear some voices in the background but he can’t make out any words. “Where are you? I can’t hear anything.”

It’s followed by more buzzing and he’s about to hang up and maybe call her back, when he finally hears something clearly.

“ _—and what would I do then? He wants to _see me_ , Erica, how do you think he’s going to react?_”

Jon frowns, because this is obviously some mistake.

“ _I don’t think he’s going to be thrilled when he finds out he’s been texting a guy this whole time, do you?_ ”

Jon nearly drops his phone at that, because what. The. Fuck. Is this a joke? Some kind of a really elaborate prank?

“ _I_ know _I fucked this up, fuck,_ ” the guy on the phone – Pat? Is that even his real name? – moans. “ _I—shit. He’s going to hate me and I don’t—I really like him._ ”

Jon hangs up his phone and stares at it in his hand. What a fucking mess.

The thing is, the — guy? Pat? if that’s even his real name? sounded so sincere just now. Like the thought of Jon hating him really scared him.

Jon needs to clear his head. Maybe he’ll hit the gym for a couple hours. Working out seems like a great idea at the moment.

Deliberately, he leaves his phone on his dresser.

 

> **From: P.** ( _received: 06/26/2007, 7:35 PM_ )  
>  i’m not here for long, flying back home in the morning
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 06/26/2007, 7:36 PM_ )  
>  didn’t know u were in chicago too, sorry
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 06/26/2007, 7:36 PM_ )  
>  maybe we could meet when i’m here again
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 06/26/2007, 7:41 PM_ )  
>  i need to tell you sth
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 06/26/2007, 7:50 PM_ )  
>  hey, is your phone dead?

 

Jon stares at the message. He brings up Pat’s contact info and clicks through the options. _Are you sure you want to delete this contact?_ his phone asks him.

Jon hesitates and then hits cancel.

Does Pat realize he accidentally called him? Would he say anything at all if Jon never asked to meet?

Now when he thinks about it, he realizes Pat might have no idea who Jon really is (although he _could have mentioned that_ when they first started texting, it would have saved them a lot of trouble). But he gets how Pat might not have realized that at the beginning – looking back, he did seem pretty surprised at Jon never having been in his hometown.

Pat texts him almost every day, constant little reminders of his existence. Jon just can’t bring himself to block his number.

 

> **From: P.** ( _received: 06/27/2007, 4:34 PM_ )  
>  i saw an awesome dog in the park today
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 06/28/2007, 8:35 PM_ )  
>  did u know they’re making a new twilight movie??? bet you’ll love it
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 06/29/2007, 7:41 PM_ )  
>  sisters are evil
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 06/30/2007, 5:20 PM_ )  
>  we’re marathoning disney movies. what’s ur fav?
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 06/30/2007, 8:12 PM_ )  
>  i def didn’t cry at monsters inc
> 
> **From: P.** ( _received: 07/01/2007, 9:20 AM_ )  
>  hey, what’s up?

 

\---

 

Patrick tries not to read too much into Jonny not texting him at all for the past week. Who knows, he could be busy, or maybe his phone got stolen for real. Patrick texts him daily, just in case.

He goes back to Chicago for the Hawks prospect camp and the thought of being in the same city as Jonny again sends a thrill down his spine. He’s not sure what exactly it is that Jonny does, since they’ve never talked about his work. He knows that Jonny plays hockey (as well as a hundred other sports, the overachiever that he is) and for a moment he wonders what it would be like to actually play _with_ Jonny, on the same team, maybe even on the same line. As unlikely as it is to happen, he can dream.

The morning the camp starts, he’s throwing clothes haphazardly into his sports bag when he gets a new message.

 

> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 07/02/2007, 10:05 AM_ )  
>  Hey
> 
> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 07/02/2007, 10:07 AM_ )  
>  hey ur alive! :D
> 
> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 07/02/2007, 10:08 AM_ )  
>  what’s up? im just leaving for work
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 07/02/2007, 10:11 AM_ )  
>  Have fun.

 

Patrick frowns. Jonny’s usually not this… terse with him. Patrick doesn’t think he said anything to make Jonny mad at him – he checks their message history, but nope, nothing there that could be taken the wrong way. He guesses Jonny must be really stressed about something. He mentioned getting a new job, too, so maybe they’re running him ragged there.

 

The first day of the camp goes well. He knows a couple of the guys already – Jack Skille was on the US team with him at WJC and it’s nice to see him again. And then there’s also Jonathan Toews. Patrick remembers him, obviously. They played against each other, Toews on the Canadian national team, with his three fucking shootout goals. He’s not the kind of a player you forget easily.

They put them together on the line for the scrimmage and it’s, well. Magical is one word for it.

It’s not the first time they’ve been on a team together – there was that one tournament when Patrick was thirteen, when his team had ended up recruiting Toews. He doesn’t remember that much about him, except that he’d been just as serious about hockey as Patrick was. But there’s no way playing together at thirteen can compare to playing together now. They _dominate_ the ice. Patrick knew Toews was a brilliant player and he was definitely looking forward to playing with him, but he wasn’t expecting in his wildest dreams they would work together so seamlessly.

Toews bumps into Patrick’s shoulder on the way off the ice and Patrick grins at him, feeling giddy from excitement.

“We got this,” Toews says. “You and me, we’re gonna light it up, yeah?”

“Yeah, man,” says Patrick.

If Patrick could have any doubts that the first day of playing with Toews was just a fluke, they’re quickly dissolved in the following days. They both get put on the lines with other players, too, but in the end it always comes back to the two of them together. It feels great and Patrick can’t way to play beside Toews in the regular season.

They get along off the ice pretty well too. When he’s not yelling at everyone to skate harder, pass the puck and generally be better at everything, Toews mostly keeps to himself, but he can crack a joke from time to time too (and it’s always in the most deadpan voice Patrick’s ever heard; it’s hilarious).

Patrick finds himself genuinely enjoying his company. It’s not even that their shared passion for the game brings them closer - they’re playing on an NHL team, everyone here is passionate about it. The PR department seems dead set on throwing them together at every opportunity, as a new chance for the Hawks to reach the top, but Patrick doesn’t mind. They don’t really know each other yet, but Patrick likes Toews so far.

This whole thing really isn’t so bad, he thinks as Toews grins at him just before they take the ice and bumps his shoulder with his fist.

 

\---

 

Jon feels really good about the prospect camp. He’s playing well and the coaches seemed really happy with his performance, too.

He likes the team, too. He knows he probably won’t get to play with most of the guys in the regular season, but some of them are sure candidates to make the team roster. Patrick Kane, for one – Jon is endlessly pleased to have him as a linemate.

He finds himself thinking about _his_ Pat, too. He’s texted him a few times since the camp started, but he’s kept the messages short, not quite able to get over his anger yet.

The camp provided a good distraction though, and he thinks he might be there now. He’s had enough time to think about everything and the things is, he’s _fine_ with Pat being a guy. Jon likes him, even if he didn't know it was a _him_ in the first place, and okay, maybe they're not going to meet up or date like he'd been thinking, but... Pat's important now. He knows more things about Jon than most of his friends do and the truth is that being friends with him is just easy. It’s almost effortless in the same way that talking to David is, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Jon realizes Pat probably doesn’t even know Jon play hockey for a living. And it’s… kind of nice to know he isn’t texting him just because Jon is going to be a famous NHL athlete.

So yeah, he gets over it.

 

\---

 

“So, you should give me your number,” Toews says to him the last day of the camp, “if you ever wanna hang or something.”

“Oh, sure,” says Patrick, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He fumbles with it, almost dropping it to the floor. “Give me yours, I’ll text you.”

He types the number as Toews dictates it to him and then drops his phone for real when he tries to save the contact because it’s _already there_.

“Shit,” he says. “Uh, sorry. Sorry, I have to go. Shit, sorry. I’ll, um, call you later.”

Shit.

He leaves Toews – Jonny – there, looking dumbfounded, and books it out of the room.

The contact was already saved because Jonny is—fuck, short for Jonathan Toews, probably.

They're the _same person_.

 

Patrick takes a few days after he goes home to freak out, because he spent his summer break unknowingly texting his new teammate and this is a whole new level of screwed up.

Then he mans up and calls Erica.

“You _what_?!” she yells as soon as he relays the situation. He winces and holds the phone away because _ow, his ears_. “You should’ve told him _ages_ ago, Patty, what the hell are you doing?”

“I know, I know,” he whines. “I was going to, I swear, but then there was the draft, and I think he had some troubles because he stopped responding to me so I didn’t want to make him more mad, and then I was busy with the camp, and uh.”

She’s silent for a moment. “And then you found out your Jonny is Jonathan Toews.”

“He’s not my Jonny,” Patrick protests reflectively. “Um, but yes, basically.”

“Oh, Patty,” Erica sighs. “Only you. So when are you going to tell him?”

“Are you kidding me?” Patrick asks incredulously. “He’s my _teammate_ , I’m not going to risk fucking up our relationship on the ice.”

Erica doesn’t say anything to that, but he can feel her judging him.

“I’ll just stop texting him and we can both forget about it,” he says weakly.

In his defense, he tries.

It gets worse when Jonny starts excitedly telling him about his _work_.

 

> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 07/07/2007, 11:15 AM_ )  
>  The first week was great, I think I did really well. Hopefully they’ll want to keep me.
> 
> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 07/07/2007, 11:17 AM_ )  
>  yeah, that’s really awesome, man
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 07/07/2007, 11:20 AM_ )  
>  And everyone was amazing. There’s this one guy that I work really well with.

 

Patrick takes a moment to feel smug because HA, that was totally about him.

Then he flings himself onto his bed and tries to smother himself with a pillow.

 

> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 08/10/2007, 11:21 AM_ )  
>  You should text me if you’re ever back in Chicago, we could hang out.

 

Patrick would like to bang his head against the wall, but he also doesn’t want to give himself a concussion before the preseason even starts.

 

> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 08/10/2007, 12:25 PM_ )  
>  yeah, i’ll let you know
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 08/10/2007, 12:31 PM_ )  
>  I’d even get you tickets to a Hawks/Sabres game.

 

Fuck. His. Life.

The worst thing is, when he looks at all their past messages, it all seems so obvious now – all the times Jonny mentioned hockey, or working out and staying in shape for the season, and Patrick just assumed he meant playing in a beer league or something. To be fair, Jonny never directly said anything about playing hockey professionally, but it’s not like he was trying to hide it, either.

Because he must have assumed Patrick knew it already.

He’s also resolutely ignoring the ‘real life’ aspect of their relationship and the fact that Jonny – uh, Toews? does he need to distinguish them somehow now? – asked for his number.

But then Jonny goes and starts complaining about it. In his texts. To Patrick.

 

> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 08/20/2007, 4:10 PM_ )  
>  I think one of my coworkers is giving me silent treatment.
> 
> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 08/20/2007, 4:13 PM_ )  
>  how so?
> 
> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 08/20/2007, 4:10 PM_ )  
>  I wanted to get to know him better because I think we’re going to be stuck together a lot, but he’s kind of ignoring me.
> 
> **To: Jonny** ( _sent: 08/20/2007, 4:13 PM_ )  
>  well uh. maybe give him some time?

 

It goes on like that until the regular practices pick up and they both get invited to training camp.

He can’t see Jonny when he walks into the locker room, and that’s cool. He gets introduced to some of the guys and hits it off with Patrick Sharp immediately. Sharpy, upon hearing his name, declares himself the superior Patrick immediately, and decides Pat is going to go by Kaner from then on. It’s not like anyone on the team calls Sharpy by his first name anyway, but it means that Patrick gets his official nickname on his first day, and that is totally awesome.

He manages to avoid Jonny until they meet on the ice. They get put on a line together again almost right away and it’s just as good as it was during the prospect camp.

Jonny corners him in the locker room after they shower. Patrick has always been a fast dresser so he’s got all his clothes on, but Jonny’s still half naked, parading around without a shirt on.

“Hey, Kaner,” Jonny says and Patrick smiles at the nickname. It’s going to stuck, he can tell already. “You never texted me.”

(Hahaha. If only Jonny knew.)

Patrick rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh, sorry about that. I figured you’d be in Winnipeg for the offseason anyway. I’ll do it later, okay?”

“You know where I’m from?” Jonny raises an eyebrow. “Been stalking me, eh?”

“Everyone knows where you’re from,” Patrick mutters.

Jonny hands him his own phone. “Here, just add yourself.”

Patrick stares at the blank screen and resists the urge to scroll through Jonny’s recent texts. “I, uh, don’t actually remember my number?” he says, a little desperately, thrusting the phone back at Jonny.

Jonny’s brow furrows. “Alright? I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says. “See you.”

 

\---

 

Kaner doesn’t want Jon to have his number.

That’s the only explanation. That, or he’s just a walking disaster, Jon thinks, because he claims to have already lost his phone once and then ended up dropping the replacement in the bathtub shortly after.

 

> **To: Pat** ( _sent: 09/15/2007, 8:10 PM_ )  
>  I think that guy I told you about definitely hates me.
> 
> **From: Pat** ( _received: 09/15/2007, 8:13 PM_ )  
>  what. no. why??? im sure he doesn’t!
> 
> **To: Pat** ( _sent: 09/15/2007, 8:17 PM_ )  
>  He’s just friends with everyone else. And he still hasn’t texted me.
> 
> **From: Pat** ( _received: 09/15/2007, 8:23 PM_ )  
>  oh. maybe you gave him a wrong #?

 

Jon doubts he has, but it’s always a possibility, so he asks Sharpy about Kaner’s number the next time he sees him.

“Huh,” Sharpy says, scrolling through his contact list. “I actually don’t have it either.”

He assumes Sharpy must’ve started bugging Kaner after that, too, because he gets a message from an unknown number in the evening.

 

> **From: [unknown number]** ( _received: 09/16/2007, 8:25 PM_ )  
>  hey. this is kaner fyi
> 
> **To: Kaner** ( _sent: 09/16/2007, 8:30 PM_ )  
>  Hey

 

\---

 

Patrick stares at the two phones on his bedside table, both screens blinking with unread messages, and wonders, a little hysterically, how the fuck it has come to this.

 

\---

 

Jon is running late. He likes being one of the first guys at the rink and usually he’s good at arriving slightly earlier than everyone else, but this morning he’d accidentally turned his alarm completely off instead of just hitting the snooze button and promptly fell asleep again.

He finds himself walking into the arena just behind Kaner and Sharpy. They’re bickering about something and he thinks they haven’t noticed him yet. He speeds up, meaning to catch up with them and walk the rest of the way together, when Kaner says something that makes him stop short.

“It’s like, we have this thing, me and my sisters. Erica is the best at the dance competitions.”

Jon gets a weird sense of déjà vu. He _knows_ he’s heard that before, something about Erica and dancing, from Pat, and it – it makes a lot of sense, suddenly. Kaner’s reluctance to give Jon his phone number, and the way he sometimes acts weird (weirder than usual) around him.

He keeps thinking about it all the way through practice. Kaner doesn’t act any differently, but Jon’s pretty sure he didn’t realize Jon was there and heard his exchange with Sharpy.

Jon wonders if he should be more angry, but. He spent enough time being mad at Pat already, and that fact that it’s Kaner – he feels surprisingly fine with that.

Still, he goes home to think it over. This is when he’d usually text Pat with a random update about his day and he fiddles with his phone. It feels different now, when he’s almost sure he’s right about it being Kaner.

 

> **To: Pat** ( _sent: 09/18/2007, 6:26 PM_ )  
>  Can you get some time off work? Come to a Blackhawks game in October, I’ll get you a glass seat.

 

Pat doesn’t reply immediately. Kaner’s commute is longer than Jonny’s, he’s probably still in his car.

 

> **From: Pat** ( _received: 09/18/2007, 7:04 PM_ )  
>  im not sure i’ll be able to make it, sorry :(
> 
> **To: Pat** ( _sent: 09/18/2007, 7:10 PM_ )  
>  Do you need a longer notice?
> 
> **From: Pat** ( _received: 09/18/2007, 7:13 PM_ )  
>  no, it’s just. could be a little complicated with my job right now.
> 
> **From: Pat** ( _received: 09/18/2007, 7:14 PM_ )  
>  i promise i’ll explain this. we should talk SOON.

 

Jonny grins to himself. He still wants more proof though, and he can’t just go and ask him, because – “Hey, so did you spend your entire summer pretending to be a girl and texting me?” – yeah, he can see how that could not go over so well. He needs a plan, and an opportunity arises a couple of days later when Sharpy announces that they’re going out after practice. Kaner says yes immediately so Jonny says he’s in, too, and starts to devise a plan.

 

\---

 

Patrick’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He’s squeezed between Duncs and Seabs in the booth so it takes a bit of effort to reach into his pocket and pull it out. He thinks it might be his mom or one of his sisters texting him, but it’s not. Instead, it’s Jonny – Jonny, who is currently sitting opposite Patrick at the table. Patrick tries to slide his phone back into his pocket without giving away what he’s doing.

At the same time, Jonny casually puts his phone face down on the table and Sharpy snorts.

“We’re not exciting enough company for you, Tazer?”

Jonny just stares at him impassively and shrugs.

“Right,” Sharpy snorts again. “Who’s so important, then? Got a secret girlfriend stashed away in Winnipeg or something?”

“No,” says Jonny. Sharpy looks dubious.

“You sure, Tazer?” Seabs pipes up. “You do spend an awful lot of time on that phone when we’re home.”

“It’s a guy,” Jonny says casually and Patrick is grateful he wasn’t drinking anything at the moment because he chokes on air.

_How the fuck does Jonny know that?_

Sharpy wolf whistles and reaches out to bro fist Jonny. “Get it, To-ez!”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Jonny says and Patrick must imagine the wistful expression that crosses his face.

Sharpy looks positively gleeful. “But you wish he was?”

Jonny _blushes_ – no, Patrick must be seeing things. Maybe that last drink was stronger that he thought – and shrugs again. “I asked him to come to a game. It could be my first one here.”

On Patrick’s left, Duncs says, “Aww,” and what the hell, has everyone at this table gone insane?

Sharpy slings an arm over Jonny’s shoulders. “You’ll introduce us, right?”

“I don’t know if he’ll come. He said he’s not sure if he could make it.”

Patrick stands up. “I, uh—bathroom. I need a bathroom,” he stammers out when everyone turns to look at him. He squeezes through the crowd, finds a restroom – thankfully unoccupied – and locks himself in a stall. Then he can finally read the last message from Jonny.

 

> **From: Jonny** ( _received: 09/20/2007, 9:24 PM_ )  
>  Out at a bar with a few friends. I wish you were here with me.

 

Patrick bangs his head against the door.

So Jonny knows he’s a guy. Patrick has no clue how – or when, for that matter – he found out, but he supposes that makes the whole thing easier. Jonny’s also apparently serious about him. The guy. Who’s Patrick. Which Jonny doesn’t know about.

So now Patrick just needs to confess it’s him and everything will be golden.

Yeah, piece of cake.

Jonny appears to be deep in conversation with Sharpy when Patrick walks back out to the booth.

“Kaner, my man! Come on, we need to devise a plan to help young Jonathan here get his man,” Sharpy exclaims, throwing an arm around Jonny’s shoulders. Jonny starts looking uncomfortable, so Kaner takes pity on him and tries to squeeze in-between him and Sharpy. Sharpy squawks when Kaner lands in his lap and almost falls off his seat in his haste to move away, so Kaner makes sure to chirp him extra hard about being an uncoordinated drunk and the rest of the guys join in, the conversation with Jonny forgotten.

Sharpy probably won’t even remember it by tomorrow.

 

Sharpy remembers everything.

Sharpy remembers everything and he just _won’t let it go_ because Sharpy is the fucking worst.

“Tazer!” he shouts first thing after he walks into the locker room. “Have you wooed your boy yet?”

Patrick expects Jonny to scowl at that and just ignore it, but Jonny… pouts. Like, he does this little frown and the corners of his mouth turn downwards and—okay, Patrick is not equipped to handle this so early in the morning.

“No,” Jonny says, sadly. Patrick drops his bag on the floor with a loud thump.

“Kaner!” Sharpy exclaims.

“No,” Patrick says without turning his back.

“But you don’t even know what I was going to ask,” says Sharpy.

“Still no,” says Patrick.

“Aw, Peekaboo, don’t be like that. Look at Tazer, you’re going to let him wallow in misery alone?”

Patrick very deliberately does not look at Jonny. “No, I’m not helping you get Jo—Tazer drunk. No. Was that it?”

“No,” Sharpy replies gleefully. “You’re going to help me help Toes get his boy.”

_What._

“What,” Kaner says dumbly. Seriously, why isn’t Jonny doing anything to stop this madness? Where is the coach? They’re going to be late for practice. “No. I’m going—uh. To warm up. You can stay here and gossip like old ladies if you want.”

He stalks out of the room and goes through the tunnel to step out on the empty ice.

The cold air at the rink helps him clear his mind a little. He takes a deep breath, standing still in the middle of the ice.

This isn’t a bad thing, he thinks. Jonny clearly knows he’s a guy, and he doesn’t seem to mind – quite the opposite in fact. Jonny likes him – _likes him_ – and that fact makes Patrick giddy with relief.

He needs to tell him tonight, he decides. Whatever’s going to happen, he can’t really wait any longer.

Besides, Sharpy’s getting out of control and who knows what he might do.

 

The answer for that becomes clear when they get off the ice after practice. Instead of buggering off and letting them change in peace, Sharpy sits his ass down next to Jonny.

“Tazer. Got any pictures of your loverboy?”

Jonny sneaks a look at Patrick, but Patrick can’t read his expression. It doesn’t look like begging for help, so he shrugs and decides to let Jonny deal with Sharpy himself.

“No,” says Jonny.

“Shame,” Sharpy says, shaking his head. “Does he have yours?”

Jonny looks thoughtful. “No,” he shakes his head.

“Well,” says Sharpy, standing up. “We gotta fix this. Come on, get up.”

“What, now?”

“Yeah, why not? With you looking hot and sweaty after practice? I’d go gay for you if I didn’t have my gorgeous Abby.” Then he gives Jonny an obvious once-over and makes a face. “No, okay, I wouldn’t, but I’m sure someone would. What about you, Peeks? Would you go for Mr. Serious here?”

"Um," says Patrick. Fortunately Sharpy doesn't seem to expect a real answer from him because he doesn't wait before turning to Jonny again.

"That shirt is awful," he says. "You should hope the guy likes plaid." He looks thoughtful for a second and then he grins. "Maybe you should unbutton it just in case."

It's a fucking trainwreck, Patrick cannot stay here to watch this.

"I don't think so," Jonny says with a grimace. It's good to know he hasn't completely lost his mind yet.

"I'll see you tomorrow, guys," Patrick says before Sharpy can do something worse, like suggest Jonny strip entirely.

"No, wait," Jonny says. The corner of his mouth twitches.

"Yeah?"

Jonny looks up at him with a pleading look. "I can't trust Sharpy on this. What do you think?"

Patrick hopes the horror he feels isn't showing on his face. He can't believe he's discussing whether Jonny should take half naked selfies to send to _Patrick_.

"Button," he chokes out.

"No, unbutton," says Sharpy.

Patrick takes his bag and definitely doesn't run out of the room. He leaves it in a dignified manner.

He gets a text – on his new phone – when he's in the car.

 

> **From: Sharpy** ( _received: 09/21/2007, 2:38 PM_ )  
>  you left early so you didn't get to see!

 

Considering the number of times Patrick’s thrown his phone at a hard surface this week alone, he's pretty amazed it hasn't actually broken yet.

He's expecting Jonny to send the picture to him later, but it never comes. Rationally, he can see why – it's a pretty terrible photo, and Jonny looks so awkward in it.

Patrick still feels bummed out about it.

He tries to ask Jonny about it the next day. He accidentally-on-purpose meets him in the parking lot before the practice, shouting after him when he gets out of his car. Jonny waves at him and holds the door open for Patrick, waiting for him to jog through the lot.

Patrick smiles and clears his throat. "So hey, how did it go yesterday, with the photo?"

"Oh, I didn't send it," Jonny says, looking down.

Obviously he didn’t. "Yeah, I kn—uh. Why not?" Patrick’s genuinely curious – yesterday it looked like Sharpy had convinced Jonny without too much resistance on Jonny’s part, so Patrick was expecting him to follow through with the plan.

"I just—dunno, I thought it might be too much, you know? I don't even know if he likes me that way."

They reach the locker room and Jonny walks to his stall while Patrick lingers at the doorway, biting his tongue before he can do something dumb, like blurt out _yes, he does, he really fucking does_ after him.

 

Patrick has a plan for this.

He arranges with Jonny to hang out in the evening – at Jonny’s place, because Patrick’s still staying with Stan and this isn’t a conversation he wants to have anywhere near the Hawks’ assistant GM. Plus, doing this at Jonny’s place means he’ll be able to make a quick escape if things suddenly go south.

Not that he thinks they will, but it’s always good to be prepared.

He brings food – Chinese takeout from a place Jonny mentioned he liked, and blueberry muffins for dessert that Jonny will surely complain about but eat anyway, because he can’t hide his sweet tooth from Patrick.

It’s fun. Patrick even lets Jonny beat him at NHL 07 two out of three times because he figures it’ll put Jonny in a good mood for the rest of the evening. But then Jonny puts his controller down and stretches, looking at Patrick expectantly.

Patrick coughs, feeling his mouth go dry. “So, um.”

“Yeah?” Jonny asks when Patrick doesn’t offer anything else.

“Um, there was actually something I wanted to talk to you about,” says Patrick, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms at his pants. “It’s just that, uh.”

The air in the room feels too hot. He stands up, walks a few steps to stand by the window and tries to start again. “You should know that I—um, that I—”

“Kaner,” Jonny says, sounding impatient. “Spit it out already.”

Patrick can’t look him in the eye. He stares at his feet instead and then closes his eyes. “Fuck. This is a bad idea,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at practice.”

He moves to walk to the door, feeling his cheeks turn bright red. He’s a fucking coward and he’s going to hate himself for this, but he just can’t do this right now.

“Kaner,” Jonny says to his back. “Pat, wait.”

It’s that name that makes Patrick stop in his tracks. He bites his lower lip so hard that he’s pretty sure he draws blood. “I just—”

“You can tell me,” Jonny says quietly. He’s moved so that he’s standing right behind Patrick; Patrick can feel his warmth on his back.

“I don’t want you to think badly of me,” he whispers, keeping his eyes trained on a darker spot on the wall in front of him. It looks like somebody’s spilled something on it.

Jonny sighs and puts a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, making him turn around to face him. “You’re such a moron,” he says.

Patrick lets himself fall back slightly, leaning against the wall. “Yeah,” he admits.

“I already know, Pat,” Jonny says.

That gets Patrick’s full attention and he finally looks up at Jonny. “You—you do? About—?”

“Everything,” says Jonny. “This summer. The texts.”

He doesn’t sound angry – more amused, actually, and maybe a little annoyed, but the way he looks at Patrick is… fond.

“You’re not mad at me?" Patrick asks. It feels like a huge weight lifted off his chest.

“I was,” Jonny admits. “At first, after I found out. You called me accidentally, I heard you talking to one of your sisters. Erica, I think,” he explains at Patrick’s unspoken question. “I didn’t know it was you then, just that you were a guy.”

“Oh,” Patrick says. “How did you know it was me?”

Jonny shrugs. “Heard you telling Sharpy about your sisters. And the dance thing. It wasn’t that hard to figure out after that.”

“Okay,” says Patrick. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Jonny doesn’t say anything to that and Patrick can’t read his look. “I guess I should go now,” he says after a moment of silence.

“I’m not angry anymore,” Jonny says. He takes a step closer and wraps his fingers around Patrick’s wrist. The skin to skin touch sends a shiver up Patrick’s arm.

“Yeah?” Patrick says breathlessly. He drops his gaze to Jonny’s mouth.

Jonny makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “You’re—okay,” he says and yanks Patrick forward, catching his weight easily when he stumbles. And then he’s kissing him, fast and hard.

Patrick’s so shocked that he doesn’t do anything at first, but then Jonny loosens his grip on Patrick’s wrist and makes a move as if to pull away, so Patrick twists the fingers of his free hand into the soft hair at Jonny’s nape and bites his lip. Jonny makes another muffled sound at that but this time it doesn’t sound like frustration at all, and he kisses back with renewed intensity.

Patrick pulls back for a moment, just to take a breath of air, leaning his forehead against Jonny’s.

“Wait,” he says in a sudden moment of clarity. “You—that photo. And Sharpy. You fucker, you did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Jonny laughs, running his hands up Patrick’s sides. “It was funny to watch you squirm,” he admits. Patrick hits him on the arm.

“Does Sharpy know?”

“No,” Jonny says. “He was just—Sharpy.”

“Okay,” Patrick huffs a laugh and tries to pull Jonny down again by the collar of his shirt, but Jonny resists.

“Come on,” he says, pulling Patrick towards the couch and sitting down. Patrick straddles him, putting his hands on Jonny’s shoulders. “Is this okay?” he asks.

“Fuck yeah,” Jonny says, licking his lips, now red and slightly puffy from the kisses. Patrick pulls him in for another kiss, opening his mouth just a little wider and Jonny follows with his tongue, making Patrick moan and clutch at him harder.

At some point Jonny flips them over, pressing Patrick into the couch and proceeding to kiss him breathless again, catching Patrick’s lower lip between his teeth. His hand trails down Patrick’s side, toying with the hem of his shirt.

Patrick’s heart is going a mile a minute. He never thought he could have this, just like that – that Jonny would want this, too, without any doubts or reservations.

Jonny pulls back and Patrick can’t stop the loud, embarrassing whine that escapes him. Jonny holds himself above Patrick, arms trembling slightly as he catches his breath. He looks dazed and Patrick feels unbelievably proud because it’s because of him, he’s the one that put that look on Jonny’s face.

“We shouldn’t—Seabs will be back soon,” Jonny says, still panting slightly. Despite his words, he leans down, nosing down Patrick’s neck, pressing a soft kiss to his pulse point.

There’s nothing Patrick wants less than stopping right now, but Jonny has a point, and this thing between them – Patrick hopes it means they’ll have a lot of chances to finish what they started. “Yeah. Raincheck?” he says.

Jonny’s lips quirk into a smile. “Yes.” He presses another kiss to Patrick’s mouth but this time it’s less urgent; feels more like a promise.

They disentangle themselves slowly. Patrick gets to his feet and runs a hand through his hair. It’s even more messy than usual, and judging from the look Jonny gives him, he enjoys it.

“I should get going, I guess,” Patrick says.

Jonny walks him to the front door and waits while Patrick pulls on his shoes. “So,” he says.

Patrick stands there awkwardly, not quite sure what Jonny expects him to do now. “So, um.”

Jonny crowds him against the door, rests his hand against Patrick’s neck, rubbing his thumb slowly against his jaw. “Later,” he says and leans down for a last kiss.

“Later,” Patrick repeats, smiling up at him.

“Text me when you get home,” Jonny says, reaching behind Patrick to unlock the door.

Patrick grins at him.

“Nah. I think I’m going to call you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I took liberties with the timing of a certain ~~stripper~~ [photoshoot](http://splash.suntimes.com/2013/03/08/jonathan-toews-ice-man/), that photo was just too good to pass.


End file.
